


somewhere in the sand

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Day At The Beach, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Very Soft And Quiet, crop tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt falls asleep on the way to the beach, curled up with the pillow he carried from his bed shoved between his head and the rental car’s window. Foggy turns the music off when he notices—Matt’s not exactly a morning person, and Foggy had woken him up and shoved a cup of coffee in his hands at 4:00 AM to get on the road early and get there before traffic got bad and it got too hot, just like his parents used to make him do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somewhere in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com/post/145438763938/also-listen-i-have-a-prompt-that-prompt-is) for a prompt about crop tops (bless), figured it was long enough to warrant putting up here~
> 
> I woke up and wrote this while I was half-asleep this morning and then just edited it while I was about to fall asleep and I think that feeling kinda translates.

Matt falls asleep on the way to the beach, curled up with the pillow he carried from his bed shoved between his head and the rental car’s window. Foggy turns the music off when he notices—Matt’s not exactly a morning person, and Foggy had woken him up and shoved a cup of coffee in his hands at 4:00 AM to get on the road early and get there before traffic got bad and it got too hot, just like his parents used to make him do.

(Before he promised to go with him, Matt said the following:  

“I shouldn’t—I _can’t_ just leave. No, _Foggy_ , not even for a night.”

“I’ve never even been to the beach, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Are you— _cutting_ up my _clothes_?” – this one, immediately after Foggy rummaged in his kitchen for a decent pair of scissors and then said, “No, I’m cutting up _my_ clothes,” and somewhat before Foggy handed him one of his own t-shirts with the sleeves and the hem artfully cut off thanks to skills he gained after being relegated to helping with costumes after the theatre teacher at summer camp told him he chewed the scenery too much.

Matt had openly sniffed it and made a weird face at him, one of those complicated _I don’t know how to person right now_ faces that made Foggy want to kiss him on the temple and tell him to—god, whatever, _buck up, kiddo_ or _I love you, asshole_ or something like that.

After that, though, he looked thoughtful for awhile before Foggy started poking him in the side until he laughed and agreed to humor him and come along.)

Matt’s face is calm and soft when he sleeps. Foggy’s eyes keep straying from the road to watch him, because he’s sentimental and weird and because it’s hard to catch Matt looking comfortable—especially nowadays. He’s got a faint bruise under one of his eyes, but it looks like it’s been there a few days, at least.

When they get to the motel, the cheapest room Foggy could find that probably doesn’t have bed bugs, Matt finally wakes up, sitting up with a soft moan.

“Hmm?” he asks, wrinkling his nose and bending his neck so it cracks.

“Keep dozing, I’m gonna pay,” Foggy says, brushing fingers against Matt’s shoulder aimlessly while he looks for his wallet where it slipped between the seats. Matt just makes a vague noise and buries his face in the pillow again, yawning loudly into it a few moments later.

He’s sitting up again when Foggy comes back, and he gives him a bleary smile.

“Are we there yet?” he asks, and Foggy laughs.

“Yeah, Matty,” he says. “Come on, let’s drop our shit off and head to the water.”

Matt starts laughing as soon as they walk into the room, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You _don’t_ want to know what I can smell in here,” he says, dropping his bag on the floor.

“You’re probably right,” Foggy says. “Ignorance is bliss.”

Matt nods sagely, dropping down to pull his clothes out of the bag, a pair of black swim trunks that they had to buy on the way here and the shirt that Foggy cut up for him, a white Columbia t-shirt.

Foggy turns around while Matt gets dressed, because he’s a gentleman and he doesn’t exactly want his heart giving away some of his less than friendly impulses while they’re all alone and far from home on a best friend bonding trip to the ocean. He’s pulling on his own swim trunks when Matt makes a questioning noise, and Foggy looks back to see him tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“It’s—short,” Matt says.

“It’s a crop top,” Foggy says. “Trust me, Murdock, all the cool kids are doing it.”

“Peer pressure,” Matt murmurs, smiling vaguely until his fingers slip down to brush over one of the scars on his stomach. His face does another complicated thing, a hitched breath and knit eyebrows and a silence that is very, very silent.

“Buddy, if anybody says anything about your literal battle scars, I’ll just regale them with tales of your time fighting tigers in the jungle with your bare hands,” Foggy says, answering a question that he thinks Matt want to ask. “Though I think they’ll be too distracted by—y’know, all _that_.”

He waves significantly at Matt’s body, adds, “I’m gesturing at your muscles, if you can’t tell.”

“I could tell,” Matt says, laughing, maybe looking pleased if the hint of pink high on his cheeks is any indication. His fingers smooth down his stomach, and then he kind of cocks his head in Foggy’s direction. “Are you—”

“Also showing off my incredible abdominal muscles?” Foggy asks, when Matt trails off. “Yeah.”

His shirt is not cut quite as dramatically as Matt’s, but it falls in the middle of his stomach and sways a little when he moves, thin and worn with age. 

“Are you really?” Matt asks. His fingers flex at his sides, and Foggy watches them curiously.

“I mean, I _might_ be exaggerating how incredible they are,” Foggy says, “and also that there are—muscles involved—but otherwise. Stomach’s out, Murdock.”

“Well—good,” Matt says, smiling and curling his fingers in the hem of his shirt again, rocking a little on his feet. “Should we go?”

“We should,” Foggy says. As he’s passing Matt to open the door, Matt’s warm hand slides across the small of his back, and Foggy’s breath catches.

“Just checking,” Matt says, innocently, leaves his hand for a moment before he brushes past Foggy—who needs to get his— _whole_ actual body in check before he follows.

They walk to the beach from their motel because it’s still early enough that the town’s quiet and warm and glowing, because it’s just about a mile with Matt holding onto Foggy’s arm and asking him questions about what they’re passing by, shops with closed signs in the windows and sleepy joggers and little local landmarks.

When they’re close, the water in Foggy’s line of sight, Matt’s fingers tighten on Foggy’s arm and he says, “I could smell the ocean since we got here, but it’s really strong now.”

He sounds excited, and it lights up something in Foggy’s stomach.

“Straight ahead, miles and miles of blue,” he says, slipping his arm through Matt’s to get him to stop. “We’re about to hit sand, I’d recommend taking off your shoes.”

They take their shoes off and shove them into Foggy’s tote bag, hard-earned with the purchase of questionably expensive hair products, and then Matt steps forward and lets his toes sink slowly into sand. His smile is bright and genuine when he turns back towards Foggy.

“Do you like it?” Foggy asks, laughing. “I thought you might not because it’s, like, tiny rocks or glass or whatever.”

“No, it’s—nice,” Matt says, keeps smiling and reaches out a hand for Foggy even though there’s nobody else around. He moves so Matt can take his arm again, and Matt squirms his toes a little before they keep walking—Foggy cheerfully describing everything that he thinks Matt might not be able to sense. They leave Foggy’s bag and Matt’s cane behind, walking until they’re so close to the water that it’s lapping against their feet.

“How’s that feel?” Foggy asks, nudging him, and Matt laughs.

“Cold,” he says.

“Want to venture in?”

Matt lets go of Foggy to bend down and dip his fingers into the water, pushing them into the sand underneath, before he says, “Yeah, I do,” softly.

Getting Matt to say that he wants something is, like, a victory in and of itself, but then Matt _beams_ back at Foggy after he stands up and steps forward until he’s ankle deep. Foggy’s heart definitely does something suspicious, but Matt’s probably too distracted by smelling the entire ocean to notice.

Matt kind of drifts forward on his own, dragging his feet through the sand and occasionally leaning down to trail his fingers through the water, while Foggy watches him and feels like his heart hasn’t been this full in awhile. Matt’s up to his knees and swaying when he says, “C’mere,” without turning his face away from the horizon.

Foggy follows him in, touches fingers to Matt’s arm.

“Worthwhile trip?” Foggy asks, and Matt turns towards him, his face all soft again.

“Foggy,” he says, opens his mouth like there’s going to be a hell of a sentence coming out of it when the water laps at them a little more aggressively and Matt almost stumbles, catches himself by grabbing Foggy’s waist. Foggy steadies him with hands on his shoulders, and Matt’s fingers flex then tighten, damp and warm on Foggy’s skin.

After a tangible silence, nothing but gulls and waves and the town waking up behind them—not just going to be the two of them out here soon—Foggy says, quietly, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Matt smiles and sighs and trails his hands down Foggy’s sides, presses his thumbs gently against his bare stomach. The way he sways forward could just be the push of the ocean, but then he’s pulling Foggy in, too, leaning up to kiss him gently on the mouth.

Foggy kisses him back. His heart’s definitely never been this full. 

“It’s the crop top that did it, wasn’t it?” he asks, when they pull apart, and Matt grins, squeezes Foggy’s hips.

“It was a contributing factor,” he says, warmly, then leans in to kiss Foggy again and again—the sun warm on their bare arms, the water beating gently on their legs—miles and miles of blue.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they build sand castles and get ice cream and make out and have a very good day


End file.
